A full week had crawled by, each day a monotonous echo of the last, since Bathilda had carved her sanctuary from the wilderness. The silence of the woods was a heavy blanket, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional distant roar of some unseen beast.

  Her clones, tireless scouts, had returned with disheartening news: the city that had so swiftly rejected her remained, for as far as they could reach, the sole bastion of civilization in a vast, untamed expanse. This world, seemingly as boundless as Earth, held its secrets close, its hidden pockets of humanity remaining stubbornly elusive. With three clones and Hiro at her disposal, Bathilda understood the necessity of patience, of playing the long game.

  The city guards, their vigilance unwavering, had become silent spectators to Bathilda's daily routine. They watched, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and awe, as she effortlessly dismantled monstrous creatures, their colossal forms reduced to steaming piles of flesh beneath her blade.

  The air crackled with the heat of her fire, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the damp earth. Not a word escaped their lips as a second woman, a perfect replica of Bathilda, materialized and joined the grim task.

  Their silence, however, was not disapproval. The sheer volume of monstrous wildlife that surrounded the city was a constant threat, and Bathilda's actions were, in essence, a form of unsolicited, yet undeniably effective, pest control. Each day, the remnants of her hunts, the portions she couldn't consume, were left near the city gate.

  The residents, initially hesitant, soon discovered that monster meat, properly prepared, was a viable source of sustenance. The gate would creak open, hands would snatch the offering, and then it would slam shut again, a silent acknowledgment of her presence, yet a firm barrier against her intrusion. Only one portion ever remained untouched, a testament to the lingering fear and distrust that permeated the city.

  With her mana reserves replenished, Bathilda turned her attention to her cabin. Higher Creation Magic, now amplified by the scale of her dwelling, allowed her to manipulate the very fabric of reality with unprecedented efficiency. A simple nail, once a single point of mana, now materialized for nothing, a stark illustration of the skill's enhanced power.

  Emboldened, she transformed her rustic cabin into a haven of luxury. Within its walls, a sauna steamed, a gym gleamed, a pool shimmered, a cinema flickered, a library whispered, and a massage room promised blissful release. One clone was temporarily dismissed, its essence absorbed to experience the restorative touch of the massage, before being redeployed to continue its exploration.

  After days of indulging in the magical comforts of her creation, Bathilda felt a surge of renewed energy. She took to the skies, flying north, a mile separating her from the city's walls. Upon landing, she began to weave mana, gathering it into a concentrated sphere in her palm.

  She had two objectives: to test Obliterate, the enigmatic skill that had evolved from Chomp and had no level, and to explore the possibility of creating a defensive barrier for the city. The distance was a precaution, a buffer against the potential chaos that Obliterate might unleash.

  "A thousand mana," she pondered, activating the skill. The world exploded in a blinding flash, a supernova contained within her hand. The roar that followed was a primal scream, a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the earth. The ground beneath her feet buckled and fractured, then simply ceased to exist, vaporized by the sheer force of the skill.

  When her senses returned, the landscape had been irrevocably altered. A chasm, a gaping wound in the earth, stretched before her, a testament to the skill's devastating power. It was a miniature Grand Canyon, a two-mile drop into the abyss, the jagged peaks mirroring each other across the vast expanse. "Holy fuck," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.

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  "Bathilda! Are you okay?" Hiro's voice echoed in her mind, laced with concern.

  "Holy shit! That's even stronger than (Reality Tear)." It was unreal. Yeah, I'm fine. Wait. Why are you asking?"

  "There was a large light and an even louder rumble. More to the point, if you're fine, then what the hell did you do?"

  Shit! That means I wasn't far enough away, Bathilda sighed, Obliterate. It's a skill that doesn't have a level. I can see why now though. It evolved from Chomp. She explained, rising into the air, the ruined earth spread out below her.

  "I have Chomp. I don't have Obliterate though. Is it because that skill doesn't have a level?" Hiro asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

  I don't know, buddy. Not my world either, remember? Bathilda replied, her voice filled with honest ignorance. Probably a (Clone) thing. She reached the edge of the newly formed crater and, with a deep breath, unleashed Obliterate once more. Another thousand mana, another blinding flash, another earth-shattering roar.

  Within the city walls, the residents huddled in fear, the ground trembling beneath their feet. The explosions, the blinding light, the terrifying roars, all spoke of a battle beyond their comprehension, a conflict that threatened to consume them all.

  The explosions, like the thunderous roars of enraged gods, had ripped through the air, followed by blinding flashes of light that seared themselves onto the retinas of those who dared to witness them. These were not the sounds of mortal warfare, but the terrifying symphony of a conflict that defied comprehension, a cosmic struggle that threatened to consume their fragile world.

  The meat Bathilda had provided, a seemingly generous offering, a temporary reprieve from their hunger, now seemed a cruel irony, a final, despairing feast before the inevitable end. The lingering taste of roasted game, once a comfort, now tasted of ash and dread.

  As the tremors subsided and the echoes of destruction faded into a heavy, oppressive silence, a tentative hope began to flicker. The world, against all odds, had not ended. The roars of death, though still imprinted on their minds, were no longer immediate, no longer threatening to shatter their eardrums. Slowly, hesitantly, life began to stir once more.

  The Demon, seemingly untouched by the chaos she had unwittingly unleashed, returned to her imposing wooden mansion, a structure that stood apart from the city’s stone architecture, a testament to her enigmatic nature.

  The scout, a young man named Jones, positioned at his designated post, a small, square window overlooking the cabin’s majestic facade, noticed her approach. He crouched lower, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. He watched as she moved with an unsettling grace, her form silhouetted against the fading light.

  "S-Sir! S-She’s back!" Jones stammered, his voice barely a whisper, as he relayed his observation to his superior. His ginger hair, usually a vibrant splash of color, seemed to have lost its luster, and his freckled face was ashen. He fidgeted, his hands trembling, his body rocking back and forth despite the stillness of the ground beneath him.

  The commander, a seasoned veteran named Valerius, stood tall, his full plate armor gleaming under the flickering torchlight. His face, etched with the lines of countless battles, held an expression of weary resolve.

  “That is a terrific question, Jones. Luckily for you, because you asked, I am tasking you with a special mission.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the trembling scout, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

  “Someone has to go out there and confront that… demon. I don’t mean fight her, you probably wouldn’t stand a chance. That said, she did leave when asked and doesn’t seem unreasonable, merely… powerful. But try not to provoke, offend, antagonize, or do anything else that might result in her destroying the city. Understood?”

  Valerius’s words, though laced with a hint of humor, did little to alleviate Jones’s terror. The young scout shivered, his teeth chattering, his mind reeling with the impossible task before him. But before he could voice his apprehension, Valerius continued, his tone shifting to one of command.

  “Good! As a secondary mission, find out what she was doing in the forest. Any information you bring back will be valuable, so do your best, Jones.” Valerius clapped a heavy hand on Jones’s shoulder, the weight of the armor a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation.

  Jones’s trembling ceased abruptly, replaced by a surge of disbelief. “Wait… You want me to go out there? To talk to… her?” His voice rose in pitch, a desperate plea for clarification. He looked around, hoping to see a hint of amusement on the faces of his fellow guards, a sign that this was some cruel joke. But their expressions were grim, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and fear.

  He was alone, tasked with confronting the enigmatic Demon, a being whose power had shaken the very foundations of their world. The weight of his mission settled heavily upon him, a chilling premonition of the unknown dangers that lay ahead.